


It's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you

by Philosoferre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 03:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13138248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosoferre/pseuds/Philosoferre
Summary: “Look, I get it. Your friend’s pissing you off. People do that. But it’s Christmas, and I’m stuck in here with you guys, and we’re all going to get annoyed very quickly.” He pauses, frowning. “And don’t think I’m letting you down easy because no one read your stupid handbook. You’ll need to pay a fine. God, who even does this stuff on Christmas?”Enjolras rolls his eyes. “That’s exactly why I did it.”-Enjolras and Grantaire get arrested on Christmas. There's a branch of mistletoe in the holding cell, which they're both definitely going to avoid.





	It's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you

**Author's Note:**

> Should I be working on my other fic? Probably. But I had to write something fluffy for the holidays. Enjoy, mes amis!  
> This one goes to my dearest Mirela. Merry Christmas, ma chere. <3

Ironically, the same song that was playing at Galeries Lafayette is currently crooning from the station’s old radio.  _ Noel Blanc. _ God, Enjolras hates that song. 

 

“It’s Christmas Eve, man,” an officer says, sighing. He looks disappointed as he leads Enjolras and Grantaire into a holding cell. There’s a bunch of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, right above the bench. Great. 

 

They’re the only ones here. Of course. Because crime takes a break for the holidays.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Enjolras mutters. 

 

He glances over at Grantaire, who’s sitting on the other end of the bench and frowning at the shards of glass and blood on his hand. Both of them are pointedly ignoring the mistletoe.

 

The officer - Jean-Luc de Baudry - crosses his arms and shakes his head. “You assaulted me, two other men,  _ and _ broke private property. And it really hurts.”

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire laughs, “you fucking destroyed that Chanel display.”

 

Enjolras glares at him. “You’re not helping.”

 

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him. “It wasn’t in your handbook.”

 

For a moment, Jean-Luc de Baudry looks like he doesn’t know what to do with them. And then, with another drawn-out sigh, he walks over to his desk and pulls out a stack of papers. 

 

“Yes it is,” Enjolras says. He pulls out the old, tattered pocket edition of  _ Le Manuel Officiel de Les Amis _ he keeps with him. “It says right here, under Chapter 12, that members are always supposed to help other members.”

 

Grantaire just stares at him for a moment. “There are 12 chapters?”

 

“Twenty,” Enjolras corrects, sighing loudly. He frowns at the book. “Did  _ anyone _ read it?”

 

“I doubt it,” Jean-Luc says, pausing his rather hurried writing. “It’s a handbook, man.”

 

Enjolras glares at him. “Stay out of this. You arrested us.”

 

“Yeah, and?” Jean-Luc pushes his chair closer to the holding cell and crosses his arms. His mustache looks even more unflattering from up close. “Look, I get it. Your friend’s pissing you off. People do that. But it’s Christmas, and I’m stuck in here with you guys, and we’re all going to get annoyed very quickly.” He pauses, frowning. “And don’t think I’m letting you down easy because no one read your stupid handbook. You’ll need to pay a fine. God, who even does this stuff on  _ Christmas _ ?”

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “That’s exactly why I did it.”

 

“What?” Jean-Luc asks. 

 

“Consumerism,” Grantaire clarifies. He takes a little shard of glass off his hand and flicks it into the garbage bin. “He’s a model revolutionary. Capitalism and consumerism make him angry, and liberty turns him on.”

 

Jean-Luc starts laughing. Enjolras just flips Grantaire off. He’s not in the mood to start up an argument about how wanting equality doesn’t mean thinking about it gives him a boner. 

 

_ Please let Ferre come soon. _

 

-

 

“I guess we’re stuck together.”

 

Enjolras startles awake, his hand slamming against the wall. It takes him a moment to focus on Jean-Luc’s shapeless figure, and once he finally remembers he’s at the police station, in a holding cell, he realizes he’s been sleeping on Grantaire. He quickly glances over at Grantaire, who’s still pretending to be asleep, and awkwardly sits up. He silently scooches down the bench, hoping not to get caught under the mistletoe. Not that he cares, obviously. Grantaire’s not the type to kiss him because it’s a holiday tradition.

 

(Enjolras isn’t sure if he wants that or not. He doesn’t like thinking about it for too long.)

 

“What?” He asks.

 

Jean-Luc noisily pulls a chair up. It scrapes against the tile floor. Grantaire winces. “Your friend’s not coming tonight. Sorry. He said he can’t make it.”

 

It takes Enjolras a minute to process what he said. That isn’t good news. “Have you called anyone else?”

 

“They all said the same thing,” Jean-Luc says. “They’re having some sort of holiday party, and you know how we are. Also said the roads were pretty jammed, so. They’re not coming.”

 

“Great.” Grantaire opens one eye to glare at Jean-Luc. Enjolras slides even further down the bench, until only half his butt is on it. He doesn’t know if Grantaire knows he was sleeping on him, and it’s not something he wants him to know. “That’s so fucking great.” He sighs. “Have you tried Eponine?”

 

Jean-Luc nods. “I tried everyone on your contact list. And there was a Miss Eponine Thenardier.”

 

“What did she say?” Grantaire stretches his arms behind his head, and his shirt lifts up a bit. Enjolras definitely doesn’t stare. He’s just really tired.

 

“She said, and I quote, “tell my friend he’s a basic bitch and I don’t help out basic bitches.” And then she told me to leave her alone, and when I told her no one else was available, she said it was your problem.” 

 

Grantaire pouts. “Basic bitch? That’s low. I’m not a basic bitch.”

 

“You’re just a bitch, no adjective needed,” Enjolras says. 

 

Grantaire turns to glare at him. Enjolras can’t tell if he’s annoyed or surprised. “Well done,  _ opinionated _ bitch. Insult accepted.”

 

Jean-Luc sighs, for the fourteenth time today (it’s only noon). “Stop flirting, please. This is a workplace.”

 

“It’s not my workplace.” Both of them are really starting to get on Enjolras’ nerves, and it’s just great,  _ so great _ , that he’s stuck with them until Combeferre decides to be a decent friend. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to last. “Why are you holding us here, anyway?”

 

“Um?” Jean-Luc looks confused. He waves his hand around in elaborate and vague gestures. “You vandalised private property, Mr-” he pauses and glances at the file on his lap. “-Enjolras. And assaulted three people, including me, a registered police officer. You’re looking at a criminal record, young man.”

 

“How old are you?” Grantaire asks. He frowns at Jean-Luc. “Like, 30?”

 

“25,” Jean-Luc says defensively. So he’s a new officer, then. Poor guy. 

 

Grantaire gives him an incredulous look. “We’re the same age, pal. It’s weird to call Enjolras “young man” if you’re only five years older. Don’t do that again.”

 

“Thank you,” Enjolras says. For once, he’s glad to have Grantaire with him.

 

But then he has to go and ruin it. Like usual. Because he’s Grantaire, and that’s his special talent.

 

“Call him kiddo instead,” Grantaire says. He sounds too cheery.

 

Jean-Luc smiles, but he still looks confused. Enjolras is starting to think it’s just his face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“What does my arrest have to do with anything?” Grantaire counters. 

 

“You punched an officer, too,” Enjolras says. “I’m not the only one capable of physical violence.”

 

“I think you meant that I annihilated him.”

 

Enjolras shakes his head, eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I meant. At all.”

 

“ _ We-ell, _ ” Jean-Luc says, bringing their attention back to himself. “I’m going to go see if there’s anyone else I can call. Have fun.”

 

Enjolras opens his mouth to protest, but he doesn’t say anything. Jean-Luc’s already far enough away to pretend he can’t hear them; attempting to get his attention would be pointless. Enjolras lets out a sigh and turns to talk to Grantaire - but he’s already closed his eyes. Very well, then. Enjolras can feign sleep, too.

 

-

 

Enjolras yawns, still half-asleep, and stretches his arms out. His fingers brush something cold, metal. A button. He winces, a shiver running down his spine, and moves his hand away. He feels denim. And warm, warm skin. 

 

Enjolras rolls over and glances up, his eyes meeting Grantaire’s. He looks so very tall. And intimidating. Enjolras definitely isn’t feeling… things. 

 

“Did you sleep good, kiddo?” Grantaire asks, lips turned up in a smile.

 

Enjolras groans and sits up. His hand brushes the button - the button on Grantaire’s jeans - again, and he awkwardly jerks his arm away. He’s starting to regret it, though - the wall is much less comfortable than Grantaire is. Thankfully, they’re far away from the mistletoe. 

 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Enjolras runs a hand through his hair. “Never mind. I’m sorry. I was probably bothering you.”

 

Grantaire’s giving him a weird look. “What? No, you weren’t. I’m cool. We’re cool.”

 

“Okay,” Enjolras says. That sounds fake, but okay. He can’t seem to look away from the strip of skin showing beneath Grantaire’s shirt. “Has the cop done anything useful yet?”

 

“I’m always useful!” Jean-Luc calls from his desk. 

 

Grantaire stretches his arms, and his shirt rides up even more. Enjolras clears his throat and averts his gaze, opting to look at the body-fluid-stained floor instead. There’s something yellow and sticky by the bench, and he’s probably going to vomit. 

 

“He called Ferre again,” Grantaire says, “but he didn’t pick up. And then he tried calling Gav, but that little fucker just handed the phone to Eponine, and she yelled at us for twenty minutes.”

 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “And I slept through that?”

 

“Well, she wasn’t on speaker.” Grantaire frowns and picks at a loose thread on his shirt. “Jean-Luc gave me the phone the minute he heard her voice. What a coward.”

 

Jean-Luc looks unimpressed. He spins his chair and then rolls it to the holding cell, and points a sharpened pencil at Grantaire. “Hey, I’m the one who arrested your asses.”

 

“Enjolras beat your ass in a fight,” Grantaire retorts. 

 

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. He glances at Grantaire. “Wait, what?”

 

“Whatever.” Jean-Luc wheels his chair away and waves a stack of papers at them. “Because you guys decided to be dicks on Christmas, I have to fill out paperwork.” He pauses. “I’d have to do that anyway, but still. You couldn’t have waited a day?”

 

“Justice never waits,” Enjolras says. 

 

Jean-Luc just rolls his eyes. It’s too quiet in the police station, even with the other officers conversing in muffled voices. They all look like they’d rather not be here, which is most assumedly true, and several of them even pretend Enjolras and Grantaire aren’t there with them. It’s annoying. And besides, Enjolras really has to go to the bathroom, but he isn’t about to do it when Grantaire’s there. 

 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” He asks. 

 

Jean-Luc shrugs dismissively. “There’s a toilet in the cell. Use it.”

 

“I don’t-” Enjolras lets out a frustrated breath and subtly glances at Grantaire, who’s drawing invisible patterns on the bench. “I can’t. Not- oh, you know. Let me out.”

 

“No can do,” Jean-Luc says. “You can go pee in our bathrooms when your friends come to get you. Until then, you’re stuck in there.”

 

“ _ Please _ .” Enjolras taps his foot impatiently. “Fine, don’t let me out, violate my rights as a human, I’ll just pee all over the floor. It’ll be your mess to clean.”

 

“No, don’t do that,” Grantaire whines. “Then everything’s going to smell like ammonia.”

 

Enjolras lightly hits his shoulder. “I’m not actually going to.”

 

“Fine, fine, you can go pee.” Jean-Luc storms over to the cell and angrily holds the door open. He glares at Enjolras the entire time. “But I’m handcuffing you again. In case you’re going to try and escape.”

 

Enjolras shrugs. “Thanks for the idea.”

 

“What? No! Go to the bathroom already.” 

 

Enjolras lets out a frustrated sigh and goes to the bathroom. He’s a little disappointed to find there’s no windows - he wouldn’t be able to escape, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He’s starting to like Grantaire’s company, even if all he’s doing is sleeping and marking how much time they’ve been here on the wall. 

 

When he gets back, there’s a commercial about Peugeot's Christmas sales blasting from the radio. Something about cheaper 2017 models, or whatever. Enjolras doesn’t particularly care about cars, and he’s not about to start now. Unfortunately, Jean-Luc and Grantaire are discussing that very subject. 

 

“I’ve always liked the 208 more,” Grantaire says. 

 

Jean-Luc looks offended. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. The 308 SW is clearly the best. It’s a family car.”

 

“Okay, well, everything’s basic in comparison to the Coccinelle. That’s a fact.”

 

“True.” Jean-Luc nods. “And what do you have?”

 

“Oh, I don’t have a car. But Enjolras has a 208 GTi.” Grantaire looks at him. “Right?”

 

Enjolras signs. “Yes, I have a nice car, I get it. Stop trying to get me interested in cars. It’s not going to work.”

 

“No one’s trying to do that,” Grantaire says. He looks - and sounds - tired, and he probably is. Eponine once told Enjolras he has issues sleeping, and her fight for custody of her siblings isn’t helping, either. 

 

They all sit in amicable silence as  _ Au Royaume du Bonhomme Hiver _ starts playing. As much as Enjolras hates to admit it, he loves Christmas music (and, yes, that includes Courfeyrac’s Michael Buble album). Beside him, Grantaire’s singing along under his breath, tapping out the rhythm on the bench. He’s a good singer. It’s just another quality Enjolras definitely, under all circumstances, does not find attractive. 

 

“I’m still mad at you guys for ruining Christmas,” Jean-Luc says, and then he walks away. 

 

Enjolras smiles at him. “Happy holidays.”

 

-

 

It’s close to fourteen o’clock when Jean-Luc steps inside the cell and hands them each a steaming bowl of boeuf Bourguignon. Enjolras just stares at it, unsure of what to do. It smells amazing, and it looks even better, and somehow this feels like a prank. 

 

“My wife came by this morning,” Jean-Luc says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “She, uh, brought more than I could eat, so I thought I’d give the rest to you guys. You’re probably starving.” He clears his throat. “Um, yeah. It’s homemade. Olympe’s an excellent chef.”

 

Grantaire looks really confused. It’s not adorable. Totally not. “Why are you being nice to us?”

 

“The spirit of Christmas,” Jean-Luc answers. He crosses his arms defensively. “If you don’t want it, I have coworkers who’d kill for some.”

 

“No, we’ll take it. It’s free food.”

 

Enjolras nods in agreement. Maybe this officer isn’t as terrible as he thought. “Thanks.”

 

“Enjoy,” Jean-Luc says, and then returns to his desk. He must’ve just come back from his lunch break, judging by the obvious wine stain on his tie. 

 

_ Police officers, _ Enjolras thinks.  _ Savages. _

 

-

 

Grantaire, as it turns out, is a real foodie. He talks with intense excitement about the history of boeuf Bourguignon, and then goes on for another hour about which wine pairs best with it. A Pinot Noir, he says, or perhaps a Red Bordeaux. Enjolras just sits and listens, his chin resting in his hand. He doesn’t know very much about wine, but he’s willing to let Grantaire talk about it. That’s what friends do, right? 

 

“Eponine says Merlot or Cabernet Sauvignon pairs better with my boeuf Bourguignon,” Grantaire says. He waves his hand dismissively. “But, you know, she thinks Cabernet Sauvignon pairs with everything. She doesn’t know anything.”

 

Enjolras smiles. “I’ll make sure to tell her that.”

 

“Stop talking about wine,” Jean-Luc calls from his desk, where he’s filling out another form. It’s probably something administrative. “I just got off my lunch break.”

 

“At least you  _ got _ a break,” Grantaire retorts. He frowns his adorable frown at the floor. “Probably got some Malbec, like the savage he is.”

 

Enjolras isn’t going to ask what the issue with Malbec is. As far as he’s concerned, Cabernet Franc is always a safe choice, and that’s it. 

 

“Did you call me a savage?” Jean-Luc asks. Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound mad. Just amused. “You’re the one who’s not putting the mistletoe to good use. It took me an hour to put that up, okay? You might as well kiss your golden boy under it.”

 

Grantaire blushes, his eyes alarmingly wide. He nervously laughs. “What? No, no… Enj and I aren’t like that. We’re friends. Friends don’t… I don’t  _ have _ to kiss him under it. I’m taking a stand against societal standards by not doing it.”

 

“Sure,” Jean-Luc drawls. 

 

Grantaire shrugs. “If you want to use it so badly, why don’t you kiss Enj?”

 

“No one’s kissing anyone,” Enjolras says. It’s high time someone asks him for his opinion on all this. 

 

“I’m just saying.” Jean-Luc offers an innocent smile, and then points his pen at Grantaire. He mouths “savage,” and continues working. 

 

They don’t talk for a long time. Grantaire marks another hour on the wall.

 

-

 

Enjolras falls asleep again (on Grantaire, dammit - why does he have to be so comfortable?), and when he wakes up, it’s already dark out. Jean-Luc is still working at his desk, but everyone else looks unfamiliar. It takes Enjolras a moment to remember that officers have shifts. 

 

“What are you still doing here?” He yawns. 

 

Jean-Luc shrugs. “Just watching my two favourite criminals. Actually, I’m just finishing some paperwork up.”

 

“So how much longer do we have to put up with you?” Grantaire asks. 

 

Enjolras didn’t realize he was awake, but he doesn’t care enough to move away. Grantaire doesn’t seem to have a problem with being used as a makeshift bed, and Enjolras is far too tired to worry about what that means. Theoretically, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It could just be normal friendship, except that they’ve never been normal friends. 

 

“Very funny,” Jean-Luc says, shaking his head. He smiles at Enjolras. “He’s a keeper.”

 

Enjolras sits upright, heart hammering. He feels like he’s blushing. “What?”

 

“Relax,” Jean-Luc says. He leans back in his chair and stretches. “The guy who’s switching me out is on his way.”

 

Grantaire scoffs. “Tell him to hurry up.”

 

Jean-Luc just laughs and shakes his head, like they’re children he finds amusing. His laughter doesn’t fade as he continues working, one stack of papers growing steadily taller than the other. Eventually, Grantaire takes out the permanent marker he keeps in his pocket, tosses his jacket on the bench, and starts doodling on his arm. 

 

_ J’ai Vu Maman Embrasser Le Pere Noel _ starts playing, softly filling up the otherwise silent room. 

 

-

 

“Why don’t we ever talk?” Grantaire asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s slumped against the wall, and Enjolras is half-leaning against him, and neither of them are going to talk about it. It’s just been a long day and they’re really tired. “Why aren’t we friends?”

 

Enjolras shrugs halfheartedly. “I don’t know.” He glances up at Grantaire, but his eyes are closed. “We could be. Friends.”

 

“Nah,” Grantaire says, waving his hand dismissively. “You don’t like me.”

 

Enjolras tries to sit up, but his hand slips on the bench and he only falls back on Grantaire, who doesn’t seem to mind. He probably didn’t even notice. “No, no, I like you. We  _ are _ friends. Just because we don’t hang out all the time doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I do.”

 

Grantaire turns to look at him and smiles. “I guess it’s true, then. Prison does change people.”

 

“I haven’t changed,” Enjolras says. 

 

-

 

The officer who switched Jean-Luc out (it was a very emotional farewell - he wished them a “joyeux Noel” at least ten times, and said he hoped they resolved their obvious sexual tension, and that he’d remember them every time he drank Cabernet Sauvignon) is even more annoying. He sits at his desk, blowing his nose and coughing loudly, and keeps switching the radio channel.

 

Currently, they’re listening to some weird Greek radio, and Enjolras isn’t even sure how the officer got it. Considering he can’t really complain about it, he’s stuck hearing songs in a language he doesn’t understand. It’s the fifth time he’s heard  _ Mantissa  _ in the past half hour. 

 

“Marina Satti’s such a goddess,” Grantaire says. He has this  _ look _ on his face every time he hears her voice, and although Enjolras has no previous experience, he’s pretty sure that’s the face of someone having an orgasm. 

 

The officer looks up, frowning. “Who?”

 

Grantaire fixes him with an  _ I-Can’t-Believe-You-Don’t-Know-This _ stare. “Marina Satti? The singer? Who’s singing this song? You’ve heard her five times!”

 

“I’m not really paying attention,” the officer says. “I’m trying to learn a bit of Greek to impress my girlfriend’s parents, but none of it’s really catching on.”

 

“Fuck the police!” Grantaire raises his fist, just like Enjolras does at rallies. Every officer in the room turns to glare at him. Enjolras isn’t sure that was a smart thing to say at a police station. Full of police officers. While he’s in a holding cell. “Sorry, you guys know I don’t mean that, you’re my friends. Really. I’ll buy you drinks once my stupid friends bail me out. But you don’t even know who Marina Satti is. I’m personally offended.”

 

Enjolras sighs. “We get it, you’re her only fan in France.”

 

“I hope not,” Grantaire says.

 

The officer just shrugs and goes back to his work. Enjolras wishes he could also do that, but, well, he’s stuck in a holding cell. So he just sighs again and listens to Grantaire quietly sing along the next time  _ Mantissa _ comes on.

 

-

 

It’s nearly midnight, and none of their friends have shown up yet. Enjolras is really starting to lose what little patience he had left, and Grantaire’s sudden desire to stay away from him isn’t helping. For an hour, he’s refused to sit remotely close to him, and although it makes sense that he’d want to avoid the mistletoe, Enjolras doesn’t understand why it’d even bother him. 

 

He totally doesn’t want Grantaire to shove him against the wall and kiss him. Definitely not. 

 

“God, it’s so boring tonight,” an officer - Ames Mangin, the one who switched Jean-Luc out - says, sighing loudly. 

 

“I wouldn’t use that word to describe-” Grantaire pauses, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you’re right, there’s no way I can say there’s any action happening. Enjolras and I can try and be entertaining. We’re very good at arguing. If you don’t like political arguments, I’m sure we can do the domestic type - I think we use different laundry detergents-”

 

“Wait,” Enjolras blurts. He feels Grantaire’s soul-searching blue gaze on him, and he suddenly feels compelled to say everything on his mind. “You never call me Enjolras. You always shorten my name.”

 

“Your name’s long,” Grantaire says, shrugging nonchalantly.

 

Enjolras tilts his head. “Why aren’t you shortening it, then? What’s up? Did I do something wrong? I don’t remember-”

 

“No.” Grantaire sighs and holds a hand up. Enjolras’ words die on his tongue, and he suddenly can’t recall what it was he wanted to say. Grantaire runs a hand through his hair and sighs again. “No, you didn’t do anything. The problem is that  _ I  _ didn’t do anything. I mean- never mind. Forget it.”

 

Enjolras wants to ask what, keep bothering Grantaire until he spills everything, but instead he says “okay,” and they sit in rather awkward silence for another half hour. The station’s filled with upbeat English Christmas songs, playing from some London radio they tuned into. Grantaire takes his marker out again and touches up the doodles on his arm - Enjolras looks over, trying to make sense of it, but he he looks away the minute Grantaire catches his eye. 

 

“Well,” an officer says, “it’s the 25th. Merry Christmas Day, everyone.”

 

There’s a chorus of repeated  _ merry Christmases _ , and someone turns up the radio’s volume. Enjolras is subconsciously mad at his friends for not showing up yet, but he’s mostly disappointed that he missed their annual holiday dinner. 

 

“You know what?” Grantaire says suddenly, his eyes blazing with some newfound fire. “Fuck this.” He turns to face Enjolras. “Promise me you won’t do anything?”

 

Enjolras has no idea what’s going on, but he nods anyways. He feels like Grantaire’s about to bust them out. “Y-yeah, I guess.”

 

“Just this one time, Enj. Don’t hold it against me.”

 

Before Enjolras can ask what he’s going to do, Grantaire leans in and kisses him gently, one hand resting firmly on his shoulder. It’s almost too quick for Enjolras to process - by the time he’s realized  _ he’s getting kissed, Grantaire’s kissing him, it’s his first kiss, wowGrantaireisagoodkisser _ , they’re not kissing anymore. He stares at Grantaire in shock, one finger touching his lips like people do in the movies. Enjolras might not know how to kiss someone, but he definitely knows this is something he wants to do again. Preferably now. With Grantaire. 

 

He surges forward, fists a hand in the collar of Grantaire’s shirt, and kisses him as rough as he can. He feels Grantaire draw in a sharp breath against his lips, and then he’s kissing him back. Grantaire’s an even better kisser than he thought, and he tastes like cigarettes and wine, and his hands feel like fire through Enjolras’ shirt. It’s intoxicating, addicting, too much for Enjolras’ own good. He keeps kissing anyway.

 

“I can’t,” Enjolras pants, pulling back. “I’m not assertive enough to pull this off.”

 

Grantaire offers a breathless smile. “I am.”

 

He shoves Enjolras against the wall and continues kissing him, rough and greedy and possessive. Enjolras arches into his touch, takes in every little breath and every kiss. He doesn’t care they’re in a holding cell, probably being watched by several police officers. The only thing he cares about is Grantaire.  _ Grantaire. _

 

Enjolras feels a sharp sting in his lip, and he lets out a gasp. It takes him a second to realize Grantaire’s accidentally bit him. 

 

“Oh, you like that?” Grantaire asks, his voice low and husky. 

 

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says. “Why don’t we find out?”

 

Grantaire just laughs and kisses him again, one hand pinning him against the wall and the other slowly pulling up the hem of his shirt. Enjolras gasps again when Grantaire’s hand runs over his side. He realizes now how much he’s wanted this, and how much he wants to do it again. 

 

“Okay, break it up, that isn’t something I wanted to know.”

 

Enjolras’ eyes go wide. He recognizes this voice. Grantaire slowly pulls back, eyes just as wide. 

 

Combeferre.

 

“I, for one, did want to know that.” Courfeyrac steps out from behind the wall, grinning like a smug cat. “Thanks for notifying me of Enj’s kink.”

 

Enjolras frowns at him. “I don’t have a-”

 

“Can we please just get them and go?” Combeferre asks, his voice dripping with desperation. 

 

Courfeyrac holds his hand up and shakes his head. He looks like he just got out of bed, which is entirely possible. “No, let me savour this. I always thought Enjolras would be the dominant one.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Enjolras crosses his arms. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Grantaire leans in close, a hand resting on Enjolras’ cheek. “You’re pretty damn good at it, anyway.”

 

“Oh, I’ve been waiting all day to see my mistletoe put to good use! This is probably the best thing that’s happened all day.”

 

Enjolras groans. Jean-Luc, really? Was he in on this, whatever this is? Enjolras can’t believe he’d side with his friends - he thought they were friends. Ish. Close acquaintances, at the very least. 

 

“You?” Grantaire pouts, facing Jean-Luc. “You’re with them?”

 

Eponine wheels into the room on a desk chair, her hands draped on the armrests. She looks like the queen she knows she is. “It was all my idea, gentlemen. You see, we knew you’d get arrested tonight. So we hacked the station and found out who would be on shift at the time of your arrest. And it didn’t take much to get him to join us.”

 

“Yeah, they keep giving me paperwork because I get bribed too easily,” Jean-Luc admits. 

 

“And you’re an officer how…?” Grantaire asks, eyes narrowed in confusion.

 

Enjolras holds a hand up. He still needs to understand how Les Amis planned this. “Wait. How did you know we’d be at Galeries Lafayette in the morning?”   
  


“Simple,” Eponine says, shrugging. “Remember when Ferre told you about that article he read? The one that said more people are spending time shopping at department stores than with their families during the holidays? It was fake. And Galeries Lafayette is the closest one to your apartment, so obviously you’d go there.

 

“As for timing, we were fully aware that you know most people aren’t going to be at a store on Christmas Eve. So, when considering the best time to protest against consumerism, it’d make sense for you to choose the morning. Fewer witness, right? And Grantaire… well, I’m almost embarrassed for you.”

 

“Why?” Grantaire asks. 

 

“It was almost too easy.” Eponine sighs. “Two weeks ago, I told you Enjolras was holding his first secret cult meeting at Galeries Lafayette, and that you could only go by special invite. I said he’d given me the seal of approval to invite you, and you took my lie without any questions. It’s giving me secondhand embarrassment.”

 

Enjolras laughs. “You seriously thought I was starting a cult?”

 

“No,” Grantaire says defensively. “Why would I think that? I’m not dumb. I never… I totally didn’t believe Eponine. I just wanted to, uh, to make sure. Definitely not the cult thing.” He pauses and stares at Jean-Luc. “Wait, but I thought you left. Some other dumbass switched you out.”

 

Jean-Luc rolls his eyes. “I came in through the back door, obviously.”

 

“Enough with the small talk, please, can we just go home already?” Combeferre’s getting more desperate by the minute. 

 

“Relax, killjoy,” Courfeyrac says. He takes the key from Jean-Luc’s hand and unlocks the holding cell. “Now go out and have the sex, lovebirds. Make me proud!”

 

Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand in his own and drags them out of the cell, only pausing to give Courfeyrac the finger. He doesn’t want to admit he was thinking about sex because that’s not like him - but with the way Grantaire’s looking at him, he’ll consider it again. 

 

Combeferre whines loudly. “Can we go now, please?”

 

“I bet you guys aren’t regretting getting arrested now,” Jean-Luc says, grinning at them. 

 

“I didn’t regret it in the first place,” Enjolras retorts. 

 

He follows Combeferre to the door after saying one last “joyeux Noel” to poor Jean-Luc, who’s been deprived of his evening entertainment. Courfeyrac squeals something to Cosette, who looks equally excited, and Enjolras knows they’re going to pester him with questions the minute they get to the Musain. He doesn’t mind, though. He won’t have to go through that hell alone. 

 

There’s another mistletoe hanging above the door, and this time, Enjolras doesn’t hesitate.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you couldn't already tell, I have a thing for fics where Enj and R get arrested and the officers are funny. Everything I know about the police comes from Brooklyn Nine-Nine and the Prefecture de Police website. Happy holidays! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr (epo-nine, I'm too lazy to add the link)!


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